When faced with a real mountain I’ll hike up the trail to get to the view, the trout stream, the summit, the goal, whatever it may be.
I’ll hike with tired legs, heavy packs and blisters to reach my goal often only to remember that tops of mountains are windy, cold, really high up and I hate heights. That’s alright though, next time I get a chance I’ll trek the trail again.
It’s possible I just really like the challenge of a goal.
When faced with a mountain of laundry however I’ll turn and walk the other way.
Tonight’s relatively small mountain. Just three baskets is more like a large hill… but the washer is about ready to be turned over one more time before I call it quits for the night.
Maybe that’s because laundry has nothing on the adventure and beauty of hiking new trails.
Or maybe it’s…
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